


Waking Hour

by papesdontsellthemselves



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Soft Boys, poor racer, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papesdontsellthemselves/pseuds/papesdontsellthemselves
Summary: Spot comforts Race after a particularly rough dream





	Waking Hour

**Author's Note:**

> tw: death, but its ok! no one dies dies ;), blood

Race lay on his back, the sun beating down harshly on his stomach. He kept his eyes closed, the distant sound of children shouting and seagulls squawking falling just short of his full perception. He sighed, allowing the noises that surrounded him to fade out, leaving him with just the ocean and the wind. 

A soft pair of lips pressed against his and he grinned, cracking his eyes open to see Spot hovering over him, a sincere smile on his face. 

“Mm,” he hummed, reaching up and running his fingers down Spot’s jaw, “Getting soft on me?”

Spot rolled his eyes, leaning down again to kiss him, “Never.”

“Yeah, okay,” Race smirked, patting his cheek and sitting up, accidentally knocking Spot off balance. 

He barked out a laugh as Spot floundered, brushing sand off his bare stomach as he sat back up.

“Asshole,” he grumbled, but the playful glint in his eyes still shone bright.

Race grinned, reaching out for his boyfriend’s hand to steady him.

“Here,” Race said, shifting onto his knees and dragging his finger along the sand to trace a heart, “come be cute with me.”

Spot’s eyebrows quirked, amusement playing on his face, but he joined Race nonetheless, helping him carve their names into the middle of the heart. It was almost too cheesy for them, but Race felt oddly giddy being able to display their love for each other in such a flashy way.  
Spot topped off the heart with an arrow protruding from either side, smiling as he sat back to observe their finished work.

Race sat, watching Spot survey the heart with a fond expression. He looked truly happy. It was a sight he wanted to bottle up and keep safe forever.

But the moment was over almost as soon as it had started when Spot began coughing. Harsh, violent coughs wracked his body and he doubled over from the force of them. He was convulsing, eyes screwed shut in pain as blood made its way past his barely parted lips. He stared up at Race with panicked eyes, pleading for help.

Race froze, unsure of what to do. What was happening? Was Spot sick? He tried to move towards him, but his legs wouldn’t work. They felt heavy, weighed down by invisible boulders that held him glued to the spot.

“Racer,” Spot croaked, reaching a hand towards him. Alarm spread through Race’s body as Spot’s hand seemed to zoom away from him, the world around him tunneling as he remained just out of reach his suffering boyfriend.

Spot’s coughs had increased almost impossibly and he was turning an alarming shade of white. Race opened his mouth to call to him, but his lips were stuck together. He couldn’t even make a sound.

He watched with phantom tears flowing down his face as Spot coughed a final time, his body shuddering with one last breath.

Finally, Race’s lips unstuck and he let out a scream.

“Jesus, Tony, whoa!”

Race was sitting up in bed, sobs ripping out of his throat uncontrollably as the world came rushing back. It was dark. Why was it dark? Why was he suddenly wearing a shirt? 

His hands flew to the surface under him, only to find that it was soft and silky and incredibly different from the coarseness of the sand that he’d felt not moments before.

“Race, look at me.”

There was the voice again. Loud in his head. No, loud because it was coming from right beside him. 

He urged his head to turn and look at the source of the voice, but his body wasn’t listening to his mind. It was like they were riding on two separate tracks. One frozen in fear, the other bulleting forward at a mile a minute, trying to make sense of the fear.

He became keenly aware of the fact that he wasn’t getting any oxygen. Well, he was, it just didn’t feel like it. At all.

A new brand of panic joined the already present fear and he whimpered, trying not to hyperventilate as he attempted to reign in his sobs. Why was he so scared again?

Oh yeah, Spot. 

Spot’s gone. Dead. He died, he-

“I’m not dead, Antonio, I’m right here.”

Oh, he was talking out loud. Interesting.

“Tony, can you look at me? Try to see me? I’m here and you need to breathe.” A gentle hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped. It quickly retracted and Race let out a frustrated sob. He wanted the hand back. It was comforting.

The presence next to him disappeared and the mattress in front of him dipped, placing the person to whom the voice belonged directly in front of him.

Spot. Thank god.

“Racer, baby,” Spot hovered a hand near his face and Race nodded, leaning into the touch as Spot gently held his cheek, wiping away some tears, “I’m right here, I’m okay. Whatever happened was just a dream, c’mon. Calm down, love, it wasn’t real.”

Race shook his head, leaning forward until he slumped into Spot’s arms. 

“Okay, yeah, there you go,” Spot cooed, wrapping his arms tightly around Race and running a hand through the back of his hair, “I’m here, It’s alright.”

It took a few minutes, but eventually Race gained control over his breathing. He remained in Spot’s embrace, allowing the last coils of panic to unravel. 

“Doing any better?” Spot asked, voice low and comforting.

Race nodded, “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

Spot shook his head, “No, don’t apologize. S’not your fault.”

Race sighed, sitting back and scrubbing a shaky hand down his face, grimacing when he felt the tear tracks that lingered.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Spot prodded gently.

“Nah,” Race breathed, hazily leaning back into their pillows. 

Spot studied him for a minute, crawling over to join him, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Race said, tangling himself back into Spot’s hold, “I’m pretty sure you can tell the gist of it.”

Spot hummed, “I’m sorry you got so spooked.”

Race shrugged, nestling further into Spot’s warm skin, “It’s okay. M’just,” he lifted his hand, gesturing around aimlessly for a moment before letting it drop back onto Spot’s chest with a sigh, “Dunno, on edge.”

Spot clicked his tongue, rubbing a hand up and down Race’s arm, “I’ve got you.”

“I know.”

With a final measured breath, Race allowed himself to fall back asleep, legs entwined with Spot’s.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, chiefs  
> feedback is always appreciated


End file.
